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But Ivy isn't one to back down easily. She turns to face him, her eyes blazing with defiance. "Or what?" she repeats, her voice strong despite the tremble in her chest. "What will you do to me that you haven't already done?"

Vice takes a step closer to her, his eyes never leaving hers. He can see the challenge in her gaze, the determination to not be pushed around. He's both impressed and infuriated by it. He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off.

"You don’t scare me anymore, Vice," she said, her finger pointed at him, her voice steady. "You’ve put me through hell and back, and I'm still standing here. So, go ahead,” she said, her hand gestured towards him. “It can't be any worse than what you’ve already put me threw."

Vice's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching at her audacity. He stepped closer to her, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. "You think you've seen hell?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "You haven't seen anything yet."

The threat hangs in the air, but Ivy refuses to back down. She raises her chin; her eyes locked onto his. "I've seen enough to know that you're not going to break me," she says, her voice firm.

Vice's eyes flickered with something that might have been admiration before his expression turned cold. "Is that so?" he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

Ivy just stared at him, her gaze unwavering. "Yes," she said, her voice steady. "You can keep me here, you can use me, but you won't break me."

Vice narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brows; he takes another step closer. "And why is that, Ivy?" His voice is a whisper, a caress of danger that sends goosebumps across her skin.

Ivy’s eyes widen as she looks him up and down quickly, she swallowed hard, her heart hammered in her chest, but she stood her ground.

"Because it's the only thing I have left of me, that no one's been able to take," she said, her voice thick with pain and sadness that coats the words like a fine layer of dust. Her eyes never leave his.

Vice's gaze holds hers, his eyes searching for a crack in her armor, a weakness to exploit. But all he sees is the fiery determination that burns in her soul. He can't help but be drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. For a moment, he's tempted to reach out to her, to offer some sort of comfort, but he stops himself. He can't let her get under his skin. He's the villain here, not the hero.

He backs away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "Your strength is admirable," he says, his voice tight. "But it won't save you from you're fate."

Ivy's heart sinks, but she keeps her chin up. "And what is my fate, exactly?"

Vice sneers, "Your fate is to serve you're purpose, as agreed upon. Do not think that because we've shared a few moments of... whatever this is, that it changes anything."

Ivy's eyes flicker with hurt, but she quickly masks it with anger. "You're pathetic," she spat back, her voice filled with venom. "A man so consumed by his own power that he can't even see the humanity in the people around him."

Vice's eyes darken at her words, his fists clenching tighter. "I don't need to see you're humanity," he snapped. "You're just a tool to get what I want."

But there's something in the way he said it that didn’t quite ring true. Ivy saw the conflict in his gaze, the battle between the monster he's become and the man he might have been. For a brief moment, she feels a spark of hope.

"Vice," she said softly, taking a tentative step toward him. "Why do you deny yourself happiness Vice?"

He turns to face her, his expression unreadable. "What makes you think I want happiness?"

Her eyes search his, looking for any sign of softness. "Because everyone does," she said. Her voice filled with a quiet conviction. "Even monsters have feelings."

Vice's gaze hardens, his eyes flashing with something that might have been pain. "I'm not looking for happiness, Ivy," he says, his voice cold and final. "I'm looking for power. For control. That's all that matters."

But Ivy can see through his words, the armor he's so carefully constructed around himself. She takes another step closer, her voice soft and earnest. "That's bullshit, and you know it. You may want those things, but deep down, you want happiness too. But you're so afraid of it, you've convinced yourself that you don't deserve it."

Vice flinches at her words, his eyes narrowing into slits. "Don't presume to know me, Ivy," he warns, his voice low and dangerous. "You don't know what I want or what I deserve."

But she doesn't back down. "I know you feel something for me," she whispers, her voice carrying a quiet confidence. "I see it in the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. In the way you touch me.

Vice's eyes flicker, and he takes a step back, his expression unreadable. "Don't mistake control for affection," he says, his voice a cold warning.

Ivy shakes her head, her eyes never leaving his. "I'm not," she says, her voice a bare whisper. "I know the difference. But if what you say is true, then this shouldn't bother you."

With a swift movement, she grabs one of the arrows from the quiver beside them, her hand trembling slightly. She raises it to her wrist, the sharp tip pressing against her skin. Vice's eyes widen in horror, his hand shooting out to grab her hand.

"What are you doing?" he barks, his voice laced with a fear that she's never heard from him before.

Ivy meets his gaze, her own eyes steady. "Proving a point," she says, her voice a whisper. "If I'm just a tool to you, then I can't possibly be worth caring about, right?"

Vice's hand wraps around hers, his grip firm but not painful. "Don't," he says, his voice tight with emotion.